


A Lesson of Mirth

by thegreatwordologist



Series: Five Private Lessons [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Nudity, Sexual Fantasy, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape has something of Hermione's, and he won't give it back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson of Mirth

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during Hermione's 7th year, and ignores canon past Order of the Phoenix.

Three weeks...

Three weeks since that night when things had taken a dangerous twist, and passing in the hall became a sharp surge of awareness. Three weeks since he'd taken her panties, watched her come, stolen her soul, and Hermione couldn't stop thinking about it. Late at night, when the other girls were finally asleep, she'd slide her hand down, fingers slipping inside her panties to tease at her clit, and she'd remember that smoky gaze and how it pierced her very core. She could close her eyes and remember the way his cock had looked, a white marble column jutting from the shadows of his lap, and the sight made her want more. Her hips would lift, and her hand would shift, thumb playing over her clit as she slipped her middle finger down and into her, giving her a faint shadow of what she really wanted. What she was slowly deciding she needed.

The end of the third week found her standing before Snape's office in the dungeons, admiring the mahogany door with its intricate carvings and the way the torchlight played over wood, countering the cold of the dungeons with the warmth of gold and brown. This time, she wore no robes, and her shirt was a silk button-up, burgundy and gold that settled over her curves and hopefully offered a bit of softness. She'd never noticed how short her skirt was before, but imagining his hand slipping under it, she felt the material swish mid-thigh and shivered. The pleated folds were half-hidden by her untucked shirt, the only bits revealed showing tan and brown plaid. Brown socks and mary janes completed the look, though she'd gone without jewelry of any kind. Her hair hung in curly tangles down her back, kept out of her face by two pinning charms.

She lifted her hand to knock on the door, but before she could, the door swung open, Snape staring down at her with undisguised annoyance. "Miss Granger," he drawled, voice silken poison. He folded his arms over his chest, and the sight took her back to that night, reminding her so very strongly of his irritation, his dark looks that accompanied the sex like a rich, dry wine. "Do come in," he invited finally, and though the invitation itself was polite enough, the tone behind it made it clear that he wanted her nowhere near his office... or him, for that matter. She set her jaw, tossing her hair back as she strode into the room, turning and watching him for a long moment. Just watching finally prompted him to close the door behind her, and only then did she relax minutely, drawing a breath.

"Professor," she began, and saw his lips thin a little at the address. "I'm sure you've noticed that there's a... rather distracting tension about us," she tried, earning a short, barked laugh of derision. But if there was one thing Hermione had learned in her years at Hogwarts, it was that despite everyone mocking her tenacious nature, it was that very nature that ensured her success. She gritted her teeth, moving to sit down in the chair, making herself as comfortable as she could manage in the austere surroundings. The grey stone walls seemed cold to her, offering little enough comfort, and the desk wasn't much better, though at least it was saved a bit due to being wood rather than stone or metal. Smooth, polished wood that gleamed in the torchlight and so neat she wondered, somewhere deep within her, what it would be like to be stretched over that desk, feeling the smooth wood against her as he pushed into her. 

Banishing the thought, she growled faintly before continuing. "Part of it surely has to do with the fact that you took something of mine," she added, back stiffening at the slow smirk that graced his lips. How he must be enjoying the humiliation this offered her. "I'm sure, if you return it, we can eventually forget that anything ever happened." If he returned it, she could stop thinking of the way he'd taken the satiny fabric to slide over his own cock, intimacy by proxy. "So I shall accompany you to your rooms that you may return it promptly," she added, voice growing more and more prim as she tried not to notice the amusement in his gaze, that unholy gleam that told her she had somehow played directly into his hands.

"Nothing in this world is free, Miss Granger," he returned slowly, taking care to punctuate the most important word. Her eyes narrowed at the implicaton, but before she could even open her mouth to ask, he continued. "If you want the item in question, you'll have to negotiate for it. I find it quite valuable, and do not wish to lose it carelessly, after all," he added, smirking as she tensed at the thought.

"Negotiation?" she whispered, her wary voice earning her a look of disappointment.

"You will provide four opportunities for further instruction," he informed her firmly. "Once those four lessons are completed, you may have your precious possession back. But be aware, Miss Granger, that I am as exacting in these lessons as I am in the Potions Classroom. Alternatively, you may leave my office." Dark eyes watched her, played over the sight of her clothes and making her desperately want to squirm in her seat. How could such a cold man make her feel so very hot?

"Four opportunities?" she finally asked, her throat oddly dry. It took a couple of swallows before she could continue. "When?"

"The times are at your discretion, Miss Granger, subject to my own availability, of course. And once you've made an appointment, you may not postpone it without punishment. Are you very clear on that point?" he asked. When she nodded, he turned toward the door. "Very well, Miss Granger. You may go."

She rose from her chair onto oddly-shaky legs, watching as he opened the door to the office. A look at the hall beyond, and she asked abruptly, "You're free now, are you not, Professor?" There was a long moment of silence, and then he turned to face her, the door remaining open.

"Why yes, Miss Granger," he said, the smirk in his eyes dripping through his voice as well. "I am. Shall we begin with lesson one?" When she nodded, he gestured for her to follow him. "Come with me, then, Miss Granger. You were correct, at least, about one thing." That said, he led her out into the hall. His black robe swished around him, drawing her gaze as she padded after him, anxious and excited all at once. And before long, they'd reached a large painting. She heard Snape mutter something, speaking just low enough that she couldn't quite catch the words, and the picture slid aside to reveal the entrance to his room. He led the way inside, stopping to close the door as she stepped inside as well. The room was large, filled with wood furniture that complimented the stone walls and floor, and the carpets that softened and warmed the place were rich browns and forest greens, not particularly lavish. But they suited him nonetheless.

"I'm sure you're aware that your lessons will be... most interesting," he began slowly, turning to pierce her with his gaze. She nodded hesitantly, lifting her chin in a show of defiance that he seemed to find amusing. "I am quite certain that your lessons on sex have been lacking, so I shall take these four opportunities to show you some of the more... exotic aspects of the activity," he said, smirking at her. "Are we very clear about that, Miss Granger?" he added, emphasizing her name so very slightly.

Sex. He wanted to show her sex, likely offer her some insight into some of the more athletic positions from the Kama Sutra or the like. For a single pair of underwear, she'd pay four times over, and that alone told her there was no logic to being where she was. She was held there, not by reason, but by the very curiosity that would likely one day get her killed. Rather than complain, she nodded slowly. There it was. He would have four chances during the year to find release with her, and she would have four chances to discover just whether he could do anything about the hormonal need driving her crazy. And then... well, then it would be time to re-evaluate their situation.

"Disrobe," he directed, and this time, rather than settle in to watch, he turned away, busying himself with a small chest in one corner of the room. So rather than bothering with a show, she shrugged out of her shirt, finding a chair to drape it over so that it didn't wrinkle. Her skirt settled on the chair seat, and she bent to take off her shoes and socks, setting them on the floor just beside her outfit. "Your lingerie as well, Miss Granger," he directed. She looked up to see him watching her for a moment before his attention turned back to the chest, and she sighed, placing her underwear on the chair as well. It was hard to keep herself from noticing the way her panties appeared damp, the crotch gleaming under the torchlight as she folded them. "Now, stretch out on the bed. You will be bound for this lesson, and you may be as loud as you wish. My room is soundproofed."

She nodded, swallowing at the thought that no one would be able to hear her scream, should she need help. But she lay down on the bed, feeling the duvet soft under her shoulderblades. Without his direction, her arms stretched up to the posts at the head of the bed, her legs parting so that her feet pointed at the posts beneath them. He turned back, a length of rope in his hands, and paused there, just staring at her for a long moment. She wondered, in that moment, was she beautiful to him? Did he like his witches young and slender, with teacup breasts and soft gold-brown down between their legs? Or was there something else behind the heat that he suddenly exuded, padding toward her to reach for her ankle? Her breath stuttered a little as long, graceful fingers took hold of her ankle, lifting it so that he could tie the rope around it. And then he'd set it back down, moving to bind her to the post tightly enough so that she could barely move her leg, her foot shifting no more than a centimeter in any direction unless she moved. And then he moved, doing the same to her other foot, and then to both arms. He ensured she couldn't really move away by stretching her just a little, not painfully.

"Today's lesson, Miss Granger, will see you as an active, if helpless, participant. Fortunately for you, you're not required to do anything save respond to the stimulus I present you with, until I am satisfied you truly understand it." His look, that dark burning coal that held her, told her that she wouldn't leave until they'd come... both of them... and her cunt throbbed viciously at the thought. "When we are done, you will be given an hour to gather your composure, and another hour to bathe before you leave. You will not leave my rooms dirty." He waited until she nodded her understanding of the directions, and then turned away. For several seconds, he lingered over the tools just out of her sight.

When he turned, he held a large peacock feather in one hand. As she stared at it, her breath skittering briefly to a halt, he twirled it for her, then glided down to stand between her legs at the foot of the bed. "This, Miss Granger, is a feather. With it, I intend to show you that tickling can be a very intriguingly erotic form of foreplay. Relax," he added, as he brought the feather down to tease at her inner thigh. She wanted to jump at the contact, the faint hint of sensation that was spearing through her but somehow not enough. But her bindings held her still, kept her from shifting too far away from him as he continued to run the feather over her skin, sliding down to her ankle before lifting it away. He let her rest a moment, then tickled the soft implement over the pads of her toes, eliciting a squeak of protest as she wiggled her toes in an effort to get them out of range. It was amazing, the way being so helpless and tickled was making her feel. Her body tingled with awareness, moreso than it had even when he'd watched her tease herself to climax, and she wondered now whether he'd use the feather to do what she'd used her fingers for so often. What would it feel like, brushing oh-so-lightly against her vulva?

Her eyes slowly fluttered shut, her breath caught in her throat as he let her rest a long minute before using the feather to tease against her ribs, dancing just under her breast without touching it. The soft sensation caught her in a gasp, her chest heaving as she began to lose herself to shock and laughter, and as she tensed up, losing her wariness in the intoxicating, maddening brushes against her skin, he drew them out more. All too soon, the feather had slid down, teasing over her inner thighs before finally dusting against her lips. They were thick, engorged with blood and heavy with need. Everything, every tiny hint of sensation left her skin shivering and more sensitive than before, and by the time he'd reached her center, she was howling, tears pouring unheeded from her eyes as she threw her head from side to side, body writhing as much as possible beneath his ministrations.

"You're wet, Miss Granger," Snape observed, and though he used her title, his voice was low, intimate and warm. She could barely hear him over the rushing in her ears, but she didn't have to. He brought a hand between her legs, rubbing against her clit as his free hand teased the feather over her nipple. Her world exploded. Sparks of red dazzled behind her eyes, a high keen slipping from her throat. And then, finally, she was sagging back into the soft bed, dimly aware that the tickling had stopped, though she hadn't been freed. Her breath was shaky yet, her body still flushed from arousal, and for several long minutes, Snape did no more than watch and wait. Finally, Hermione sighed, looking up at him and nodding. She'd regained her composure. She was ready to be released.

But Snape, once more lifting the feather, was not yet done with his lesson...


End file.
